


The Consequences of Incessant Douchebaggery

by orphan_account



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Bullying, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Games, Insecurity, M/M, Mind Games, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A confrontation with Tyler Clary makes Michael rethink his opinion of the younger man... and rethink his opinion of himself as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consequences of Incessant Douchebaggery

* * *

Surprisingly, it’s Michael who comes up with the game.

The idea springs to mind when they’re thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic on their way to London and soon he’s got people switching seats so that Ryan, Cullen, Matt, and Nathan can crowd around him and play. “The rules are simple.” Michael says with a fiendish smirk. “Each player gets one sentence to describe Tyler Clary in the most demeaning way possible without using any actual curse words. The most eloquent description wins.”

“What’s eloquent mean?” Ryan asks.

“It means well-spoken,” Cullen answers.

“Fuck Jeah!” Ryan enthuses, “I’m gonna dominate this shit.”

“You can barely manage one sentence in real life,” Nathan snarks good-naturedly. “How’re you gonna do it in a game without frying your brain?”

“Yeah, Lochte,” Matt chimes in, “I doubt you have even two brain cells to rub together.”

Ryan snipes back playfully, says “Two brain cells is all I need. One to fuck your Mom and the other to tell her to get her clothes and get the fuck out when I’m done with her.”

“Ooh, burn!” Cullen whoops. Matt reaches over to give Ryan a noogie and Nathan cackles with laughter, face turning red from lack of oxygen.

“Will you quit it?” Michael sighs, shifting back into his seat. “I can’t tolerate this incessant douchebaggery. I thought we were gonna play the game.”

“Dude, we so are.” Ryan says. Cullen, Matt, and Nathan all nod when Michael looks at them.

“It’s your game,” Nathan says. “You gotta go first.”

“Fine by me,” Michael shrugs one shoulder, sits quiet for a moment then says, “The sound of Tyler Clary’s voice makes me envision the exact moment when an underage male prostitute spits a mouthful of lukewarm semen onto the concrete of a dark alleyway.”

“Seriously descriptive,” Cullen says. “It was like I was actually there.”

“You’re picturing yourself in a dark alleyway with an underage male prostitute?” Nathan snickers. “Dude, you’re fucked up.”

Matt breaks in, says, “Alright, alright. Ryan you’re next.”

Ryan clears his throat before speaking in a snooty British accent, “If I had to choose between saving Tyler Clary’s life and being pushed into a crematorium and burned alive I’d spend the last moments of my life savoring the smell of my own flesh cooking.”

Michael throws his head back and laughs heartily, as do Nathan, Matt, and Cullen. It’s not until Matt looks up from their little impromptu powwow to see that they’re being watched. Tyler Clary is standing in the aisle of the plane, his position suggesting that he was on his way to the bathroom when he stumbled onto their little game.

“You honestly feel that way about me?” He asks, jutting his chin in Michael’s direction indicating that the question was meant for him.

“It’s just a stupid game, man,” Michael mumbles. “No harm, no foul.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, tight lipped like he’s holding back tears. “No harm as long as it’s not you being made fun of.”

“Dude, I’m sorry-” Michael says.

“No you’re not,” Tyler interrupts him. “You’re sorry you got caught. You got teased as a kid, right?”

Michael nods, says, “It’s nothing like that, man… I- we were just,”

Tyler holds up a hand, signalling that he wasn’t done talking. He asks, “Do you remember being beaten up, chased home, and dumped into trashcans? Do you remember all the bullies who made every day of your adolescent life a living Hell? Can you still see their faces when you think about it? ”

Michael nods again but doesn’t speak.

“Well, Congratulations, Phelps,” Tyler says. “You have officially become just like them. You might be the Golden Boy around here but that doesn’t change the fact that on the inside you’re nothing but a big bully and just like all the kids that bullied you, one day you’ll look back and wish like Hell that you would’ve have the decency to treat me like an actual human being, instead of some pathetic little loser for you to laugh at.”

With that Tyler stalks back to his seat and stares out the window, refusing to talk to anyone. By the time Michael picks his jaw up off the floor the plane has touched down at Heathrow Airport.

\--

They’re three days into the Games and Tyler still refuses to talk to any of his male counterparts, especially Michael.

“I can’t take it! I’m losing my mind!” Michael moans from where he’s sprawled out over his bed in the American dorms. He grasps a pillow in his hands and every now and then he screams into it or bonks himself on the head with it in frustration. “Why won’t he just talk to me?”

“He won’t talk to any of us either, dude,” Ryan says as he re-laces the new pair of Nike’s all the American Olympians were given to wear during the Games. “Just give it time. It’s not like he can never speak to you again. Professional swimming is a small world, man, and you’re apart of it pretty much any way you cut it.”

“ _Aah gahh-a oooh uhhh-innn_ ,” Michael says, his voice muffled by the pillow over his face.

Ryan asks, “What?”

Michael tosses the pillow at him and says determinately, “I gotta do something. If things keep going like this my head’s gonna explode.”

“Definitely,” Ryan agrees. “And I gotta say, man, no pillow will be safe until this is over.”

“I’m gonna go talk to him right now,” Michael says with a resolute nod. “I gotta apologize.”

“Good luck,” Ryan says, patting him on the shoulder. “If he kills you I promise I’ll delete all the porn off your laptop so your mom never finds it.”

“Thanks, bro.” Michael smiles, then heads out in search of the recently elusive Tyler Clary.


End file.
